


Ever Since We Met (I Only Shoot Up With Your Perfume)

by everybreathagift



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, minimalist prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 18:38:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5175230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everybreathagift/pseuds/everybreathagift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will doesn't stay away when Hannibal goes to prison. Written for a Tumblr prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's the only thing that makes me feel as good as you do

“Will, this is unhealthy. This is…”

“I have to see him, Alana. I’ve never asked you for much. Give me this.”

Alana sighs, looking terribly concerned. “Everything will be recorded. He tried to kill you, Will. He tried to kill me. He _did_ kill many others.”

“I’m not asking you to understand, Alana.”

She nods. Will ignores his pounding heart. 

**

“Hello, Will.”

The grey-white jumpsuit looks ridiculous. Will hates it almost as much as he hates the glass. 

“They let you have your books, right? I told Alana to let you have your books.”

Hannibal smiles. It’s warm and genuine and makes Will want to die. “I have my books.”

“Will you come closer?”

Will doesn’t try to break the glass. He does press his palm to it.

**

Hannibal is reading to him. Something in Russian that Will couldn’t even begin to understand but it doesn’t matter. The floor is unforgiving beneath him, but this way, Hannibal is only four inches away, on the other side, also on the floor.

“You’re not sleeping well. More nightmares?”

Will nods, stretching his legs out in front him. “They’ll never go away. Not while you’re in here.”

Will doesn’t try to break the glass. He does rest his head against it.

**

“Will, I think you need help, something more than I can give. I know you’ve seen the effects of Stockholm.”

“I don’t have Stockholm syndrome, Alana.”

She doesn’t look convinced. 

“You’ve stayed past visiting hours every night for nearly two months. Now, you’re asking to _spend_ the night. It’s too much.”

Will can’t meet her eyes. Will can’t think of her saying ‘no.’

“Everything’s recorded, right? And we both know there’s plenty of guards. What can it hurt?”

An hour later, he’s carrying a blanket and pillow to Hannibal’s cell. Hannibal smiles. 

Will doesn’t try to break the glass. He does lean against it to sleep.

**

“If I weren’t such a selfish creature, I’d tell you to leave.”

“Thankfully, you’re a selfish creature.”

Hannibal smirks. Will melts.

“I am. Though, it has been four months. You’ve barely left, despite the obvious injury to your back from this floor.”

“I don’t know how to be without you.”

Hannibal sighs, a contented sound. “Nor do I, Will.”

Will doesn’t try to break the glass. He does wipe the tears from it. 

**

There’s a lot of noise when Will wakes up, neck stiff from the floor again. He hears Alana, and Hannibal, and others he doesn’t know.

“….unacceptable. Not only have you given him endless privileges, you’ve let one of his victims practically live with him.”

“Will is not my victim.”

Will opens his eyes. Hannibal is strapped to a dolly, his books are in boxes, his paintings are on the floor. He’s looking only at Will. 

“Mr. Graham, there are so many ethical violations here that I’m not sure I could count them all. Above that, Dr. Bloom should’ve known better, and should’ve kept your well being at the forefront of her thoughts. I apologize, but it’s time for you to go.”

“Dr. Thompson, if you’d just let me explain-”

Will can’t breathe. He can’t look away from Hannibal. 

“I’m not leaving. You can’t make me leave.”

With a snap of fingers, two guards corner Will. They grab his arms, but he twists away.

Will feels scared. Hannibal looks empty.

Will tries to break the glass.


	2. And that one regret is you

It’s been thirty seven days since Will was forced from Hannibal’s cell. 

Alana was fired. Hannibal was moved. 

Will doesn’t sleep. He does corner Freddie Lounds for information because _of course_ she knows where they moved Hannibal.

She looks concerned but only just. Will ignores it and promises her the story of a lifetime. She spills like a fountain.

Will listens.

Laura Fowley is Hannibal’s keeper now. She’s middle-aged, unattractive and single. Will thanks all the deities whose names fell from Hannibal’s lips against Will’s ear.

**  
It’s been forty two days since Will was forced from Hannibal’s cell.

Laura lives alone. Her house is large but devoid of emotion. She eats takeout and watches reality tv. Her favorite color is green.

His back aches from his position in the car. He doesn’t think about the reason he has the injury in the first place. He cries anyway. 

Laura goes to bed at ten thirty, every night, never before or after. She’s routine. 

Will watches. 

Two weeks later, he’s clean shaven and his shirt is green. He bumps into her at her favorite market. The practiced smile he gives hurts his cheeks, but she brightens anyway. He introduces himself as Will Hobbs.

**  
It’s been seventy one days since Will was forced from Hannibal’s cell. 

Their first dinner is a success. So is their second. Conversation is boring but Will is a good fisherman. 

She blushes when he kisses her. 

Will doesn’t gag. He does imagine stubble and strong fingers. She moans and touches Will’s cheek. 

Will listens.

When they have sex, she comes with a sigh of Will’s name. Will comes silently, a name not hers behind his teeth.

**

It’s been one hundred and twenty two days since Will was forced from Hannibal’s cell.

Laura is curled into his side. They eat takeout and watch reality tv. She asks about his day and he lies. 

She has four glasses of wine instead of one. Will doesn’t have any, but she doesn’t notice. 

Will focuses.

When her kiss is sloppy against his cheek, he gives her a playful grin. 

“Tell me about your craziest patient.”

“Ugh. There’s this one, you’ve probably heard of him. Hannibal Lecter. He’s absolutely…"

Will doesn’t kill her for calling Hannibal ugly because _of course_ she’d see him that way. He does remember gorgeous smiles reserved just for him and the whisper of his name like a prayer.

**

It’s been two hundred and fifty three days since Will was forced from Hannibal’s cell. 

Laura says she loves him. He says it back. He doesn’t mean it. 

Will let’s her rant about various inmates, and patiently waits until she says one name. He’s perfectly disinterested as she speaks of Hannibal’s antics, but Will smiles to himself when she can’t see.

Will learns.

“Babe, don’t let me forget this form in the morning. It’s for the extra security when we transport Hannibal the Cannibal to the courthouse. They’re actually listening to that freak’s appeal next week.”

Will puts three Xanax in her wine. She sleeps in late. 

As she rushes to get dressed the next morning, he tells her he’ll drop the paperwork off to the security company. He assures her it’s no trouble at all. He burns it and doesn’t think about the flames playing shadows on silver hair between his fingers.

**  
It’s been two hundred and sixty four days since Will was forced from Hannibal’s cell. 

The van he buys is meant for transporting dogs, but fitted with a few pairs of handcuffs and a pretty label, it looks official. The uniform is even easier. 

Will kills Laura at five in the morning with a knife to her throat. He doesn’t tell her he’s sorry. 

Will prepares.

The institution isn’t as big as he’d thought from the pictures. Those same deities are thanked once more when he discovers the pictures weren’t wrong about the offset location. 

“Where are the rest of the guys?” An orderly asks.

“Waiting for us on the highway.”

**  
It’s been two hundred and sixty four days since Will was forced from Hannibal’s cell.

He doesn’t watch as they load his existence into the back of the van. He does press shaking hands to his eyes. 

They slap the back glass and Will pulls off. His pulse pounds and his vision blurs at the edges. Two miles up, he stops the van and walks to the back.

Will shoots.

First one guard, then the second, two quick shots to the head of each. He puts the gun back in his jeans and looks to the right. The ridiculous mask covers the smile that Will knows is crinkling maroon eyes. His hands stop shaking.

**

Will can’t remember how long it’s been since he was forced from Hannibal’s cell. 

The car is parked in the woods, an unremarkable brand with Tennessee tags. Hannibal holds his hand as they run. 

Will doesn’t close his eyes as Hannibal changes from the jumpsuit into clothes Will had stuffed in a bag. He does let Hannibal help him with his. 

Will cries. 

“Shhh, my darling boy. You’ve done remarkably. How I’ve missed you.”

“I don’t have anywhere for us to go. This was the end of my resources. I was hoping you did.”

Hannibal smiles. Will thinks he might die. 

Hannibal does have places because _of course_ he does. They take a boat, and then a plane. Will spends every spare moment making up for lost time with Hannibal inside him. He sleeps.

**  
It’s been fifteen minutes since his lips last touched Hannibal’s.

They’re settled, someplace in France that has beautiful markets. Hannibal teaches Will French. Will teaches Hannibal how to fish. Will brings home a dog. Hannibal doesn’t mind.

They talk about teacups and time and the measure of disorder. Freddie Lounds gets her story.

Hannibal tells Will of the rooms in his memory palace that kept him alive. Will explains how warm Laura’s blood was gushing over his fingers.

They love.


	3. outtake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had a few people ask for Hannibal and Will being deviants during the first part of this fic. Hannibal is a smooth fucker and Will has an obsession.

“You look wrong in here.”

Hannibal is drawing again. They sit side by side on the floor. Will pretends he can feel his heat rather than the cold glass against his ribs.

“The aesthetics are not what we were used too.”

“When I see you, it's always in your kitchen, apron around your waist.”

Hannibal smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes. 

“My palace allows me to see you many places, but the vast majority of times, you're in my bed.”

Will doesn't squirm. He does close his eyes and take a deep breath. 

Hannibal continues. “You see me in the kitchen because our nature leads us to enjoy our loved ones in their most comfortable environments. The same is true for seeing you in my bed.”

“I miss it. I miss you.”

Will's voice tries to break. He lets it. 

“And I, you. Every breathing moment.”

Will thinks about their last time together. His chest feels hot with pain. His cock feels heavy with lust. 

Hannibal becomes very still.

“The surveillance is terribly inconvenient.”

Will nods because his throat is too tight to speak. His fists clench. 

“I can smell you. Very few things have the capacity to drive me mad, but I fear this glass is currently one of them.”

Will doesn't moan his name. He does grip his thighs to avoid gripping his cock. 

_“You_ drive me mad. God, you're in my head all the time, Hannibal. I can't make you leave.”

Will doesn't add that he wouldn't want to. Hannibal knows anyway.

“In your defense, I worked very hard to ensure you couldn't.”

“You look so wrong in here. In that stupid jumpsuit. This ridiculous glass.”

Will's said it a hundred times. He'll say it a hundred more. He doesn't think the words can will those things away. He does hope. 

“If I could take this vision of me from you, I would, darling.”

“Me, too. I'd have you in your kitchen.”

“I'd have me inside you.”

Will doesn't stop his moan. He hurts and he _is_ hurt. Hannibal exhales and Will hurts more. 

“That sound could open the heavens, Will. The scent of you is intoxicating. Maddening, so close yet unable to physically pull that sound from you again and again. Until you're hoarse and my scent covers your own.”

Will's back arches and aches. He doesn't care about the cameras. He doesn't consider that he should. 

“My possessive nature wishes to hide the sight of you like this from anyone. My theatrical side wishes everyone to see the effect my voice alone has on you.”

Will shudders and pants. He rests his forehead against the glass and hates it more. His cock pulses thickly between his legs. He grips his thighs tighter. 

“Everyone knows, Hannibal. Everyone can see.”

Will thinks they'd have to be blind not too. 

“Can they see how you beg? I suspect not. No one knows how your body blooms for me.”

Will gasps. “They won't. God, they couldn't. No one.”

“You're beautiful beneath me. I'll see it again.”

It's a promise and Will can't bear the thought of it being empty. He can't bear the thought of it being true. He pulls his knees to his chest and doesn't groan at the pressure on his cock. He does whimper. 

Will is falling apart. Hannibal pretends to be calm. Will can spot the tiny tremble in his voice anyway.

“You're dripping. This room will smell of you for hours. I'll ache because of it.”

Will sobs at the knowledge, the idea that Hannibal is just as broken and desperate for Will's touch as Will is for his. His hips thrust involuntarily. His fingertips bruise his thighs.

Hannibal knows.

“I'd burn entire worlds to ash to feel a simple brush of your fingers. Sell your soul and mine for a moment's worth of privacy. I always ache for you, Will.”

Will flattens his palm to the glass and comes. His body jerks, curls into himself and presses as close as he can. He doesn't scream. He does feel his heart break.

Hannibal looks unaffected. His eyes look destroyed. His breathing looks off. Will lets the tear slide down his cheek. 

“This glass won't hold me forever, darling. Be patient."

Will pretends he can hear his heartbeat.


End file.
